


thaumatrope

by kilewolf



Category: Gintama, His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Gen, implied sakagin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23085688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kilewolf/pseuds/kilewolf
Summary: It turns out earthlings themselves don't really know why their souls are born in pairs of two, or why one is usually furrier and smellier than the other.A Gintama daemon AU.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 54





	thaumatrope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zarinthel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarinthel/gifts).



> Written for a friend's birthday gift exchange.

"We're back."

"Gin-chan, we brought the pudding!"

You crack a groggy eye open. The shuffling sound of shoes being changed, and then the feeling of footsteps reverberating on the tatami. Kids are so loud. No respect for your peace and quiet, but you suppose that pudding is an adequate apology gift.

"Gin-san, you still haven't taken out the flammable trash, have you? You should hurry and do it before they pass."

As Shinpachi approaches, you see Nori poke her head out from under his collar. Your gazes lock for a moment, but she only looks at you inquisitively, no hint of apprehension in her little mouse's frame. You've seen and shared space with your fair share of rodents, but for some reason, Nori looks to you more than any of them like a dumpling with ears.

"Yeah, yeah. Gimme the pudding already." The doctor said something about your sugar levels last week, but you were only at the doctor's because you were in a car crash. And the car wouldn't have crashed if you'd had your sugar, so.

"Oh! It's almost Ladies Four time!"

Kagura rushes to her favourite spot on the ground in front of the TV, sliding on her belly like a penguin. She's lucky Shinpachi recently vacuumed. All the noise and commotion has woken Sadaharu, and now he's padding sleepily out of the closet to join them—her, mostly. You're glad he'll always be more fond of her than of you, despite all the suffering Mother Dearest has endured cleaning up after his gargantuan poo. Poo breeds neither love nor respect, you've found—the only things that giant mutts care for are sunny smiles, DBZ-style play-matches at the park, and emotional support on days when they feel a bit down. None of which you're equipped to hand out, obviously.

"Ahhh!! What the hell, it's a recap!?"

You yawn widely. It's a sleepy, peaceful afternoon. You ignore the sounds of Kagura pummeling the TV, and settle in more comfortably on the couch. It's going to be pollen season soon, and your preferred way of dealing with allergies is to sleep through them. You also have no responsibilities to speak of today, which is the best kind of sleep aid. Not that you usually need any. Right before drifting off, the vague thought of the garbage flits through your mind, but, eh.

It's got nothing to do with you.

***

In the beginning, it was just the two of you.

You were something like partners, each other’s only allies in the wide-open fields of your childhood. The only two presences that remained steady and familiar, as the other crows flew away and the other man-shapes on the ground died.

You rarely spoke to one another, but you didn't need to—things passed between you understood without words, like a radio frequency that others somehow couldn't tune in on, though you weren’t sure if they tried. You didn’t mind so much as not understand why it was just you and this other pale, strange-looking thing.

Over time, you slowly realized that the two of you were never quite like other twos, never quite like other people, things, daimons, they were called, walking down the street side by side. Over time you realized a lot of things—that you never understood anyone else either, that you were supposed to be two pieces of the same thing, that you weren’t supposed to leave. That you weren’t ever supposed to be alone. How were you supposed to know? There had never been animals next to the bodies on the ground.

But of course, by the point you realized this, you had met the Amanto, so it really didn’t matter anymore.

***

Of course, Tatsuma is the same as always, the way anyone might have predicted. The same overbearing presence, the same annoying laugh. He is exactly as you remember him, which, right now, doesn't seem like a good thing. You thought that maybe he would get even taller--and at first you thought he did, until you realized he was wearing geta.

"Ahahahaha! Ahahahaha! Heyyyy, Kintoki, you're late! Nao-chan and I almost got tired of waitin' for ya!" And then the loud, excited thudding of flapping wings hitting their own human in the face.

One of the most infallible laws of the universe is that an annoying man must have an annoying daimon. But Nahosako, uniquely, seems to delight in making herself just as much of a nuisance for Tatsuma as for everyone else. Sitting on her usual spot on his shoulder like a live warning sign, she too seems to have slid through unscathed by the weight of a decade. Unlike others you could think of. She is more exuberant tonight than ever, with her crest puffed up to the max and her wings spread fully despite the inconvenience to Tatsuma's face. She peers down at you with a twitching head, as though she can't quite contain her excitement at seeing you again.

"Shut up. How last-minute can you be? You should be grateful I showed up at all." You grumble.

It's easy to forget how long it's been, when you're with them. Flamboyant red coat aside, it's like nothing's changed--like you're still just the same old dumbasses you were back then, out for a rowdy night in town, ready to categorize everything other than drinking and party games as 'miscellaneous' for the next few hours. 

You don't think you'll be seeing Tatsuma and Nahosako more than once every blue moon. You suppose that, potentially, there's a lot you could say to them. But the things left unsaid between you are like a familiar padding by now—warm, comforting, well-worn. It isn't like with the others. Zura may look away, but only Tatsuma and Nao are callous enough to simply disregard what ten years have dragged you through entirely. You're grateful for it.

When you settle down next to him, Tatsuma laughs and gives you an easy pat on the back, his touch as casual and unthinking as ever. His smile is vapid but warm, blue eyes bright. He beams at you in a way you're not quite able to react to in that moment as your body and mind reel from the unexpected touch. You hope it doesn't show on your face, because it really is—nothing. Between the two of you, it's nothing worth commenting on. And if your heart stopped for a moment, well, that's just a normal reaction to being startled.

You're torn between not wanting him to know how long it'd been since you were last touched even so fleetingly, and not wanting him to think there are others like him, for you.

Behind you, with a voice just as loud as Tatsuma's and twice as shrill, Nao begins to screech into the karaoke mic. Well. Like you said, some things never change.

***

"Well? Have you thought about it?" Shouyou had asked one afternoon.

Both of you had stared up at him silently, not quite sheepish. He'd tasked you with thinking of things you would like to be called—names that could be yours. But what did you know of names? You'd only heard a handful, all strange to your ears. You didn’t understand anything about what made a name good or bad. Besides, weren’t other people usually the ones to give you your name?

Shouyou had laughed, the soft chuckle he’d been practicing. "Don't worry. I thought that might be the case. If you can't think of anything, would you like me to offer some suggestions?"

Shouyou's ideas are always good. Were always good. You had both sat up in his lap, listening attentively.

"Let's see... Your hair is like silver, so..." He’d rested his hands softly on two silver-pelted heads. "How about 'Gintoki'?"

There had still been many things both you and Shouyou didn’t understand, back then. To you it had sounded like a word like any other. But you liked that you understood the meaning, and you liked that Shouyou was the one to come up with it.

"Gintoki..."

Even Shouyou hadn’t often heard you speak, but his look of slight surprise had been quickly replaced by a smile. "Do you like it? I'm glad."

A wordless nod, from…

"Then from now on, your name is Gintoki."

***

"You haven't changed," Zura says. He doesn't sound bitter or nostalgic.

Is that good or bad? you wonder, but of course Zura doesn't speak of such things when there are more familiar grooves for this conversation to follow. "I wasn't sure what living in this city would do to you, but you're as careless and undisciplined as ever."

You're standing on the rooftop of some building, watching Zura watch the dim streets down below. Surprisingly, he doesn't have his arms crossed. Even more surprisingly, there's barely a breeze in the quiet evening air—no wind to carry up the sounds of the city stirring in its sleep, no opportune draft to send Zura's hair billowing against the night sky. You can’t believe he wears it loose now.

Wadatsume sits perched on the railing, white feathers smooth and unruffled. You watch her, too, and think about how much of your life you've spent bird-watching. Actually, not that much, now that you think about it—you remember Nao’s monkey, Shokuhou's wolf and snake, Wadatsume's rabbit. And Nao's dragon phase. It feels so long ago, now. You feel old.

"I don't wanna hear that from you." Leader of the Joui rebels, indeed. You can't tell who among you were—are—the most stubborn ones. "Heard you got thrown in the slammer again the other day."

Wadatsume makes a harrumphing sound as Zura tucks his hands into his sleeves like some sort of great sage. You don't think he's aware that it makes him look more obnoxious than anything else. You imagine his nose growing like Us*pp.

"Ha! Escaping from such a drab prison is a trifling matter for a master escape artist like me." You remember both of you taking a running start and flinging yourself over the edge of a ship, clinging tight to Zura's body, hoping against hope as the parachute, miraculously, held your combined weight—and Zura's legs somehow failed to fall off. Wadatsume, in comparison, had it easy. But you're fairly sure bird daimons get weighed down with more than normal chains, in prison.

"Why don't you just stop getting caught in the first place?" you ask, an obvious question you've never asked because it seemed too obvious to apply to Zura.

Zura looks at you, surprised. They always seem surprised, even Tatsuma, though he hides it better. Zura recovers as quickly as you expect, though, and the surprise is gone before the idea of it can linger in your mind long enough for you to feel anything.

"Sometimes it's the easiest sacrifice to make." Is it your imagination, or is his voice gentler now? More subdued, at least. You don't like that, and decide to find it annoying from now on.

“Ever the noble-minded one." Wadatsume gives you a look that only a bird with an unnecessarily long beak _and_ neck can give.

_I don't want_ , Zura could say here, _to hear that from you._

He doesn't.

"It's not Zura, it's Katsura."

“I didn’t even say it yet.”

The conversation eventually moves on to more mundane things, like terrorist bomb threats and the ease of poisoning mayonnaise.

***

You open an eye, and are met with Kagura’s face staring down at you.

“…What?” you ask, bemused but too used to her antics at this point to care.

“Nothing.”

“If it’s nothing, then let me sleep in peace.” You close your eyes again, more out of principle than anything.

“All you do is sleep. Don’t you want to go outside?” She says it matter-of-factly, but you still get the vague feeling that she wants you to go play with her in the park.

You yawn. “No. If you want a playmate, you have Sadaharu.” Wasn’t that the whole point?

Something shines behind her eyes. She seems pleased. “Uh-huh! Sadaharu and I are two pea pods! But don’t you want to go out too? The weather is really good right now!” Who knows what that means to someone who literally roasts in the sun.

You roll over onto your side. “No,” you say again.

“I’ll give you 300 yen!”

“That doesn’t work on me.”

After some more nagging, she finally gives up and goes find Sadaharu. Which isn’t exactly hard, because this apartment has about three rooms. Sometimes you wonder how the big old mutt does it—on some days even you feel claustrophobic, but at least you have the comfort of knowing you can drink strawberry milk without turning into Godzilla.

You wonder how much Kagura really understands You can’t blame her for not getting it, when she’s only been on Earth for such a short while.

A loud crashing noise behind you.

And, well, she and Sadaharu really were made for each other. 

(You cover your face and studiously ignore the commotion.)

***

The two of you were the only ones who knew about Shouyou. You sometimes caught Zura and Wadatsume looking contemplatively at the pocket where Shouyou-sensei ostensibly kept his daimon, but they never said anything. You heard the other students’ whispered speculations from time to time. Mantis, grasshopper, ladybug were popular guesses. You heard firefly and beetle sometimes. Some children couldn’t feel Shouyou’s warmth and imagine him with a non-mammalian daimon, and suggested an exceptionally small mouse.

But they all respected him too much to press him, or even show them—especially those among them wise and knowledgeable enough to realize Shouyou was a man without a past, and that these precious, laughter-filled days they shared were not likely to be looked kindly upon by “real” samurai.

You think Zura probably knew that you knew. But he never asked either of you, never mentioned it, never said anything that made sense in general. But you always felt his eyes on you, in those moments where the mood in the classroom shifted, and you found even your own thoughts turning to Shouyou’s daimon.

Or maybe it was because the topic of conversation was daimons more generally, and he had other reasons for looking at you thoughtfully.

In your memories, it’s always hard to tell. Would that you had paid more attention back then, and savoured the uneventful days while they lasted.

***

The Amanto weren’t human, so they had no daimons.

It was as simple as that.

***

You’d always wondered, about your friends. Tatsuma and Nao. Zura and Wadatsume. Takasugi and Shokuhou. You used to see them all the time, used to bear witness to every other little interaction whether you wanted to or not. But you were all children then, with all the open-hearted whimsy and fanciful forms that entailed. And then you were at war, and that was different in its own way.

Tatsuma and Nao were the easiest. They were truly made for each other, in a way that makes you think—duh. Tatsuma never had anything to hide; when he didn’t like something, he just decided to do something else, like fucking off to space for ten years. You didn’t take it personally, because he sure didn’t. It was neither’s fault that his invitation came when you were gone, anyway. (Some part of you is still surprised he didn’t just leave without you.)

Zura and Wadatsume, too, presented a seamless, cohesive image. You can easily imagine his eight-year-old self side-by-side with the crane without anachronism. He’s always had an old man’s soul. But you somehow can’t picture them talking to each other as easily. You’re well-acquainted with Wadatsume’s fickle disposition, at times overbearing, at times sullen—but she has always been different, around you. More or less withdrawn, you couldn’t say,

And then Takasugi—

Your heart pangs when you think about Takasugi and Shokuhou. How long it’s been… so very, very long. No longer than it has for the other two, but each day weighs heavier on you when you remember their faces. Yet it still feels like it hasn’t been long enough—like time hasn’t dulled you down enough, like age and wisdom haven’t yet made you brave enough to see them again. The steel is missing by your side and in your spine, and you can’t help but think, those nights when you curl up in your futon and think about, _actually_ think about, because if you don’t who will, the lonely, deep, primordial ache in your chest—

It would be easier if he would talk to you.

***

“Gintoki,” Shouyou had said musingly that day. “I seem to have made a bit of a mistake.”

You’d looked up at him and shrugged. You realized pretty early on, but like you’d said—you didn’t care about these things. A name from Shouyou, any name, made you happy.

***

When you finally see them again, you almost feel guilty. It feels a little like the closing of a long chapter, the bookend of a long journey. With the familiar acrid smell of smoke in the air, Under the bloody glow of the fireworks overhead, you feel like you’ve finally circled back to where you’re supposed to be.

Hearing Takasugi speak is awful. Seeing Shokuhou’s once sleek, severe plumage now in pallid tatters is worse—it’s one thing to see them suffer, and another to see them resemble yourselves.

You wonder if they speak, nowadays, or if Shokuhou just tries to rip Takasugi’s chest out with his talons.

“I have a beast of my own, too,” Gintoki says then. Sometimes you think you really hate him, but this joke is so bad it snaps you out of your misery. 

Takasugi and Shokuhou are frozen at the sight of Gintoki’s blood.

“But my beast is a white one. Its name? Sadaharu.”

_Crunch._

As Gintoki crowns this ten-year reunion with an unceremonious fist to Takasugi’s jaw, you begrudgingly pounce, pinning Shokuhou—gently—to the ground. His beady hawk’s eyes look up at you, tiredly, you think, reflecting the dancing light of the lanterns strung up above you. You still haven’t heard his voice—it was all Takasugi talking, with that crazed, feverish tone that made you want to throw up. But then, he hasn’t heard yours either. Perhaps the two of you can have a proper reunion some other time, somewhere away from the smoke and bangs and chaos that your humans like to hide behind . Perhaps, perhaps.

But probably not.

***

“Hey, hey, Yae-chan,” Kagura says, looking at you with wide eyes. “How come you and Gin-chan can go so far from each other?”

You yawn, long tongue curling over your lower fangs. It’s mid-afternoon: time for your fourth nap of the day.

“Because his feet stink,” you say, “and I’d die otherwise.”

END

**Author's Note:**

> Thaumatrope: a scientific toy devised in the 19th century. It consisted of a disc with a different picture on each of its two sides: when the disc was rotated rapidly about a diameter, these pictures appeared to combine into one image.


End file.
